


A Very Mercer Christmas

by MaeWestKozi



Category: Avengers (Comics), Prototype (Video Game), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Christmas, Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaeWestKozi/pseuds/MaeWestKozi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Mercer has less than 24 hours to prepare Christmas dinner for his sister. Hijinks ensue.<br/>Good thing Ragland's bringing the booze.</p><p>Also includes omakes: Alex vs. The Potato, Ragland vs. Shiraz, Alex vs. The Laundry, & Jen vs. Words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Snow was falling gently, draping the city of New York in a light dusting of frozen water. The ruins that made up the now ragged isle of Manhattan gave the disaster zone the appearance of being cloaked in a soft blanket.

It was coming up on the second year since the breakout in the summer of 2009, and the city was rebuilding. Despite the wrecked skyscrapers and the still red-stained streets, New York managed to carry on. Blackwatch, an elite and secretive government force charged with the containment and disposal of large scale infections and outbreaks had pulled out almost a month before that November, leaving in their wake both terror and relief.

Now, SHIELD and the Red Cross were in the area helping local volunteers and other organizations - Free The Children and UNICEF being only a few - and the city was slowly being cleared of debris and gore. Members of the Avengers and even Spiderman were often spotted around the more ruined areas passing out food and navigating the ruined buildings for stability and assisting displaced residents with the recovery of their belongings.

The holiday season was in full swing, and the survivors of New York found themselves embracing the spirit of the holidays with a vigor they had thought they had lost. But with the absence of heavy military presence and the visible improvements and repairs taking place around the city, hope was quickly becoming a near tangible force, buoying people up and bringing happiness and joy back to a place and a people that done with so little for so long.

Alex Mercer was not exempt from the joy that was spreading through the city. His eyes were clearer, his complexion a shade livelier than 'corpse pale' and he could feel his skin and facial muscles contorting away from his usual grimace into what could only be a smile.

A very faint, very demented looking smile - but in this case it's the thought that counts.

Dana, his sister in everything that mattered - even if this was no longer true in a biological sense - had awoken from a ten month coma following the events of the outbreak and was finally through enough physiotherapy and immune system restoration therapy that she could be safely discharged from the long term care ward in the hospital and return home.

In preparation for her return he had tried to be a good older brother; did some tidying, stocked up the fridge, and scrounged around to replace furniture that had been wrecked during that night when Blackwatch had come calling. These tasks were not difficult. He held within himself a plethora of memories of tidying living rooms and grocery shopping. And with the city in recovery, and himself believed to be dead by the authorities he didn't even have to take another shape to do errands unmolested.

Dana hated to be reminded that he was a killer, and for her he would risk discovery over wearing the form of one of the many casualties of his mad personal crusade almost two years previous.

And she was coming home. It was difficult for him to visit her in the hospital; to him the multitudes of the sick, injured, and the infirm registered as prey, his instincts calling him out to cull the weak, to remove weakness wherever he found it. Dr. Ragland had visited for the most part on his behalf, and once she had become conscious his rambunctious sibling and the laid back coroner has formed a fast and strong friendship almost overnight.

It would be one of the first times she would be seeing him for more than a few minutes at best since they had begin to work through her fear of what he was before she had been taken by Greene's leader hunter. Everything had to be perfect. And, it was Christmas.

From what he could recall from his patchwork fragments of memories from the human Mercer, they had never had a real Christmas, and that Dana had always wished for one. The sociopathic geneticist had never deigned to celebrate the holidays, preferring instead to spend the holidays holed up in the lab or his home office. And anything the man he was now could do to distance himself from the monster the human who created him had been...well, it was worth a try.

So...Christmas dinner in a little over 26 hours.

This could be tricky.

* * *

Doctor Bradley Ragland was resigning himself to a Christmas on his own for the second time in two years. After breaking off with GenTek shortly before the Penn Station disaster and the subsequent catastrophe, it seemed that the Christmas season of 2010 had passed the isle of Manhattan by. At the time there was still a heavy marine presence ranging throughout the metropolis purging the remaining hives and infectious hot spots, as well as closing down and confiscating what remained of GenTek.

It was a troubled time, pulling long hours in the mortuary, double checking the bodies for the virus, making sure there were no new cases. Not to mention the stress put on him by the occasional appearance of Alex Mercer, terror personified. During the outbreak itself it had been easy to get over the raw animal part of himself that urged him to flee in Mercer's considerable presence and to focus instead of finding a cure for what had been shaping up into some kind of mad zombie apocalypse. But once it was over - a nuclear device detonating only 15 miles off shore - he had interned Dana Mercer into a local hospital where she would be well looked after.

He had figured it was over. And then almost three weeks later a middle aged man has wandered into his workspace with a casual, "what's up, Doc?" in a voice he had hoped never to hear again. Codename Zeus, asking him for help once again.

After a time the terror he felt in the virus's presence diminished - the very obvious care and concern for his sister helped immensely. And once she had recovered from her coma he had found her sheer humanity in the wake of his experiences with her distant and socially inept brother to be extraordinarily refreshing. And now she would be leaving the hospital in time for Christmas Eve, and he would not intrude on her and Alex Mercer's reunion, leaving him, once again, on his own for Christmas.

The phone on the wall rang twice, and he picked up the receiver, cradling it between his shoulder and ear as he washed his hands in the office sink.

"Hello? Dr. Ragland?" It was the front desk of the hospital. "There's a call for you on line three."

"Ah, thank you. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."

He wiped his hands on a paper towel and dialed into line three with one hand, idly reaching up to hold the receiver, rolling his freed shoulder to work some stiffness out.

"Hello. Dr. Ragland speaking."

"Ragland." A shiver went down his spine at the low growling voice on the other end. There was only one person who had a voice like that.

"Ah. Alex. Did you need something?" Please, he thought, say no and hang up.

"I..." Ragland raised an eyebrow. He could practically see the grimace that the virus was sporting on the other end. Alex Mercer, Lovecraftian anti-villain himself, was being hesitant. His other eyebrow decided to join the first in a race to his receding hairline.

"Christmas dinner. Tomorrow. Eighteen hundred hours. For Dana. You are invited. You will be there."

Mercer grit this out in staccato of deep breaths and low growls, as if the words themselves were putting up a titanic effort towards beating him into the ground. Or as if he had a severe case of indigestion - the speech pattern Mercer was exhibiting could easily be an effect of either one.

"Of course. I'd be happy to."

A sudden thought occurred to him, regarding just what a dinner concocted by Alex Mercer would consist of.

"Alex, will you need any help putting this together?"

"Probably. But this is something I need to do on my own...Thanks..." he gritted out.

Ragland smiled to himself as he hung up the phone. It seemed he wouldn't be spending Christmas on his own after all.

* * *

What did people have for Christmas dinner? Wracking the collective memories of a thousand different Christmases (and at least six different recollections of Hanukkah) he came to both a conclusion and a headache soon enough. He went to the notepad on the side table next to the sofa in Dana's apartment and began making a list.

Meat. Either a turkey, a ham, or a beef roast. Make gravy? No to the gravy. Ham it was. They usually came pre-cooked, so the risk of food poisoning was minimal.

Potatoes. Mashed or baked? Both, he supposed, just to be on the safe side.

Vegetables. Green beans if he could swing them. With the way things were right now, a frozen medley would probably do just fine.

Cranberry sauce. In a can or from scratch? It would depend if he could get his hands on some sugar.

Dinner rolls. Those would be easy enough. Hamburger buns from the corner store would suffice in a pinch.

And Christmas pudding. With either rum or brandy.

Alex nodded to himself looking at his list with a slightly smug smile. He had a plan of action.

Operation Dana's Christmas was GO.


	2. Chapter 2

Christmas Eve was busy at the best of times, but this was clearly not the best of times. The food had already been distributed to the needy, and what had been left had already been scrounged through days before for Christmas dinners across the city. The small warehouse that was serving as one of many food banks and aid outposts was running out of everything. And when they opened their doors to the public once more early on the morning of December 24, this pickings were indeed slim.

Peter Parker understood this. Living on the sporadic wages of a photojournalist, he was used to taking the less glamorous route when it came to culinary options. So if there was even the possibility of bringing home something for his humble Christmas dinner with MJ and Aunt May that evening he would seize it.

He reached the aisle where meats were stored in row upon row of grocery store refrigeration units. There were a few awkward looking chickens scattered here and there among the empty shelves. And then he saw it.

There was a large ham sitting in the back corner of the unit. It had obviously been passed over due to its inconvenient location. And now that most of the meats had gone to other families, the ham was revealed. Peter Parker made a bee-line for the ham, opened the glass door on the refrigerator and brought then ham out. He smiled to himself; his luck seemed to be turning around.

And then his spider-sense went haywire.

* * *

If Alex Mercer had been anyone else, he might have even smiled. He looked down at his list and smirked maliciously in a slightly smug, self-satisfied manner.

The dinner rolls had been tough to find, but a quick hunt through the baked goods section had turned up a bag of fluffy calabrese buns that were only a shade on the stale side. Broil them up with some garlic butter and that wouldn't be noticed. Of course, all the butter was gone, but a bulb of garlic and some margarine spread made for a good substitute.

At least it did to the late Matilda Klein, an elderly lady who continued to nag from beyond the grave _in his own head!_

He shook his head and blinked slowly. Inhale. Exhale. Carry on.

A bag of frozen Green Giant vegetables covered that side of it. And he had managed to snag an only slightly sprouted bag of white potatoes. The pudding was a bust, but a smushed Yule Log cake worked for his purposes.

All he needed now was a ham. He swung the cart towards the section of the warehouse that sported the meat refrigeration units. A quick glance showed him that, apart from a couple of chickens that looked like they had been passed over for a reason, there was one last ham.

And it looked like some nerdy looking guy had gotten there first.

Alex Mercer glowered. It was decision time.

Option one: sneak up behind the other man, remove him from the equation, and take the ham.

Option two: ask for the ham. Maybe in disguise as Matilda?

Option three: ...

He really liked option one. Dana wouldn't approve, but it was Christmas, and maybe she would forgive him if he only knocked the guy out. But then again, it would make her angry with him. Or scared. That was a possibility he didn't like at all.

Mercer's scowl deepened. It was settled, then. Ask, and if the answer was no, then plan B. He would control himself for Dana. This was all for her sake, after all. He tried to make his expression a little more amiable, but could feel his failure etched into the contours of his own face.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

_Turn around_ , his spider-sense screamed. _There's something behind you!_

He whirled around, dropping into a crouched, defensive, stance, placing the wrapped ham on the floor to his left as he span to face whatever danger had crept up behind him. He almost stumbled back in surprise. It was just some guy.

A very scary looking guy, but as far as he could tell, just a man.

 _Danger! Run away!_ His senses disagreed loudly with this thought, and he tensed.

The man before him was tall and solidly built, filling out a hooded sweater and leather jacket in a way that made him seem heavily muscled, but not bulky. The hood of the sweater was drawn up, shading the top half of the man's face from view. The man's mouth was drawn into a deep scowl, but the edges seemed to be twitching as if he were trying and failing to smile.

While the man would have seemed highly intimidating in appearance to a normal person, after everything he had seen in his time as the "Amazing Spider-Man" the presence of the man before him was limited to the warnings that his spider sense continued to blare.

Swallowing, he asked, "is there something I can help you with?" Idly, he noted that this guy looked familiar.

The man's head tilted to the side as if he was sizing him up. "Christmas dinner," the stranger growled in a gravelly voice, "for my sister. She is coming home from the hospital tonight. The ham, please," he gritted out in a voice like coarse gravel.

The 'please' tacked onto the end almost sounded like it was painful to articulate. Peter Parker tried not to smile. And then the rest of the little speech became registered. The ham. He did not want to give the creepy guy his prize grocery item.

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry, but I need this myself for dinner with my fiancée and my elderly aunt. I'm sure there is another ham somewhere around for you?"

The man's already predatory countenance darkened, his shoulders hunching forward and his scowl deepening into a slow bearing of teeth. As if rumbling from the gullet of some kind of large and horrific beast the hooded stranger growled.

"Please. I don't want her to be unhappy. But I'll chance it for the one time I do Christmas. The ham." And he held out his hand expectantly as if expecting that to be that.

Peter Parker frowned. How rude. Slowly, he picked up the ham and backed up a step, shaking his head. "Sorry, man." He opened his mouth to continue with a suggestion for what else he could do, and almost missed the warning of his spider-sense suddenly screeching across his nerves.

"Aw, screw this." The stranger muttered, and suddenly the man's outstretched arm rippled with red and black tendrils, shape shifting from a leather jacket clad human arm into a blackened and spiky looking whip-like appendage tipped with glinting claws.

Peter ducked low as the clawed fist extended over his head, crashing through the glass door behind him with crushing force. The whip-like arm retracted back into place for a moment before swinging forward once more at high speed.

"What the crap! You're gonna turn into some kind of maniacal hobo shoggoth over a freaking ham?"

The horror in question paused, the razor edges of the claws having extended swiftly past Parker's guard to brush the side of said ham, as if considering the question.

"Yes," he growled. More black and red ropes of material seemed to ripple up and down the man's body in agitation. The claws closed around the ham, morphing with a squelch into black strap-like appendages that wrapped around the wood-smoked, honey-sweetened, plastic-encased morsel of Christmas goodness, before withdrawing and cradling the ham protectively against the stranger's chest.

Peter Parker's eyes went wide. Now he knew where he had seen this guy before.

"Holy...you're Alex Mercer."

Alex Mercer swore violently, causing Peter's eyebrows to jump up comically.

"I need to think. Stay put for a second," he ground out. Before Peter Parker could react a heavily placed foot knocked the breath out of him and pinned him to the side of the fridge. Alex Mercer was muttering to himself, a few words here and there were audible, and of these words, their content was enough to have the man who was secretly a spandex clad web slinging hero pale in dread.

_Oh, man. I'm gonna die. Over a ham! On Christmas Eve! That doesn't even make any sense!_

But Peter Parker was intelligent. And desperation is an excellent source of motivation. And while the idea in question was not the best, it might be able to buy him enough time to notify SHIELD or the Avengers that Mercer was still at large.

"Can we cut it in half? It is a pretty big ham." _And, it's Christmas_ , he added to himself.

Mercer paused, considering.

He glanced towards his shopping cart piled with his Christmas shopping and the ham, then back to the prone form pinned beneath his heel, debating internally.

A whole ham with left overs that Dana wouldn't be able to possibly eat all herself...or...

Mercer narrowed his eyes at the young man before him. Peter Parker gulped, expecting the worst.

And then the man who for almost three weeks in the summer of 2009 had been regarded as the greatest internal threat to the nation surprised him.

Alex Mercer's right arm rippled and warped, shifting into a large, wicked looking sword blade almost as long as he was tall. He picked up the ham and held it in front of himself almost grudgingly before bringing the the blade arm swooshing down, bisecting the ham into two.

He dropped half of the ham onto Peter Parker's stunned chest before backing off and leaving the aisle with an oddly threatening, "Merry Christmas."

Peter Parker sat there for a moment just catching his breath. He needed to call someone. Reaching into his coat pocket he brought out his cell.

His mangled cell, which had apparently been crushed during the short skirmish.

"Aw, crap. Not another one!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Thanks again, Jennifer, for helping me out with leaving the hospital," Dana smiled at her old college roommate. While Jennifer Walters had studied law and criminology, it had been at the same institution that Dana Mercer had studied journalism and English literature.

Jennifer Walters, known to her friends as 'Jen', was Bruce Banner's cousin. Due to a blood transfusion between them a number of years ago she obtained the ability to transform from being a brunette lawyer into the green-skinned heroine 'She-Hulk', an integral and easily recognized member of the Avengers. A fact she did her best to keep quiet, lest it interfere with her work in the judicial circuit.

"It's no trouble. I actually had no idea you were in hospital until you called me last month about my old apartment. I don't even want to know what happened there to take out the whole wall."

Dana fell quiet, a slightly glazed look entering her eyes. Jen furrowed her brow, concerned. Then the moment passed and Dana looked up at her, smile only a little strained.

"You're probably right, you really don't want to know."

The truth was that the entire apartment had been totaled during the height of the outbreak in the summer of 2009. Elizabeth Greene, the carrier and the controller of the REDLIGHT virus had sent out a large, mutated leader hunter, a gorilla-like beast of immense strength, speed, and size, to take her in order to provoke her brother, Alex. It was the aftermath of this event that had led to her stress-induced coma in the first place.

"Well, whatever happened, I'm glad you're alright. And I'm sure I can convince the insurance company to cover the repairs. After all, so much has been demolished recently, it shouldn't be much of a stretch to add one little apartment."

Dana laughed a little. "Thanks, Jen. Oh, by the way, I heard from Bradley earlier this morning that my antisocial brother is going to try to put together a little Christmas dinner for us. If you don't have any plans, would you like to come?"

Jennifer Walters goggled. "Since when did you have a brother?"

Dana scratched the back of her neck, sheepishly. "To be honest, he didn't really qualify for the position until after the outbreak mess was in full swing last year. Then he got...I don't know, protective?" She sighed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Before then he was all work, work, work, and the next thing I know he's keeping me safe in a freaking zombie apocalypse, and now he treats me like glass. I mean, it's nice to know he cares, but after a while it gets a little stifling. I'm a big girl, now."

Jen nodded slowly. "I think I get it. You want someone else at this dinner to keep him from grilling you about what you've been doing the years he wasn't around."

Dana giggled. "How'd you guess? Am I really that obvious?"

"I'm a lawyer, sweetie. I get paid to know how this stuff works."

They both laughed at that.

"So, you didn't answer my question; are you coming, or what?"

"Of course I'll come." She leaned in towards her friend, a sly smile crossing her face. "So...tell me about this 'Bradley' guy."

Dana blushed, cursing. "Don't tell Alex."

* * *

Alex Mercer was in a kitchen. Spread out on the counter top in front of him were the groceries; potatoes, a bag of frozen vegetables, margarine, garlic, calabrese buns, and the ham. He had trouble believing that he had let that guy off the hook in the store; he must be going soft. Alex growled inaudibly to himself.

But was going soft - being more human, and more approachable - really something to be unhappy about. He scowled as he flipped the ham around to look at the surface of the cut he had made in the store. He wasn't sure. Were the steps he was taking to act more human for Dana a good sign, or was he sliding back from his true self? It was getting harder to tell.

Looking over the food set out before him he snarled in sudden realization. "I forgot the cranberries!"

He stalked over to the fridge, yanking the door open with such force that the whole thing rocked dangerously forward before settling. He let his eyes rove the shelves, sorting through the milk, cheese, fruit juice and jams he had stocked the unit with in preparation for Dana's homecoming.

There. He relaxed marginally, the momentary panic draining as quickly as it came. There was an unopened jar of red current and cranberry jam in the fridge door.

"Alrighty then," he said to himself as he closed the appliance door and turned back to the counter. It was nearing late morning; he had a little over three hours before he needed to start cooking. "Let's put this away for later and find a tree."

When looking for a Christmas tree in New York, the average household might spring for one of the many pines brought in from the tree farms from more rural areas. However with there still being a great deal of rebuilding and replacing of the infrastructure of the island, there would be few such trees entering the city. And this close to Christmas it was clear that any that had would have been donated or sold already. The second option for Christmas trees, or if he wanted to be politically correct (Alex Mercer didn't really care one way or the other, but having the choice was nice) the Holiday tree could be obtained in plastic form from any major department store.

However, they had never had a real tree before - or if they had it was before he could remember. A real Christmas tree would go a long way towards warming his sister up to him, towards diminishing the spark of fear still present in her eyes whenever she looked at him. A real tree, with real Christmas decorations. A challenge, indeed.

 _But_ , he supposed, _at least this challenge should be less difficult than luring Greene into the open..._

And with that thought, his mood soured. Even reminders of the insane test subject that Greene has been were enough to turn what passed for his stomach.

_Okay, get back on track. Christmas tree._

There were two places he could think of right away that would have evergreen trees; Central Park, and the holiday display that had been rigged in the refurbished corner of Times Square. He would try the park first, then if there were no pine or spruce trees in the vicinity he would back track up to the Square for a display tree.

Making sure that the food was put away properly and that the door was locked, Aled opened the living room window and swung himself out to the ledge on the other side. Gently closing the window he coiled the biomass in his legs like a spring before launching himself straight up and over the roof of the building, hitting the vertical face of its neighbor at a run.

He grinned as he leaped and glided across a street corner to another building, somersaulting over the lip of the rooftop and sliding across the gravel surface to dive over the edge of the next building. Flurries started to wisp around him as he kicked up tufts of snow as he went along, the cold air stinging his eyes.

It was good to be alive.


	4. Chapter 4

Central Park was picturesque. The gently falling snow drifted through the trees and sparkled in the lights cast by the street lamps along the walkways. The ponds scattered throughout the grounds were just beginning to ice over along the edges, and the sounds of children playing in the snow could be heard nearby.

Clinton Barton smiled. A member of the Avengers, Clinton was also known as Hawkeye. While his sharpshooting and archery skills were not well suited to much of the repair work that was going on at the time, Hawkeye had experience in leading and coordinating a group from his own stint as a leader of the Avengers in the early nineties. He was now putting this knowledge to use, perched on some higher ground and using his considerable long range vision to recognize and direct volunteers to debris and wreckage that lay strewn about the park.

Fallen trees, crashed helicopters, and an abandoned M1 tank had all been found and marked onto the master copy of a map he held. This would be later forwarded to SHIELD, the coordinators of the recovery, and they would take care of organizing the removal of the debris.

Clinton smiled to himself as he marked down another fallen tree onto his map, followed by a crater in the middle of a park trail.

Suddenly, there was loud thud somewhere in the trees behind him, the source if which was great enough that he could feel the ground quiver beneath his feet. For a moment he thought that yet another damaged tree had crashed into the ground until he heard a groan. Thinking that someone might have been injured in the crash (whatever had fallen had given an impression of being large and very heavy) he quickly stowed his map and pen and dashed forward to assist.

As he approached a small clearing he came across a shallow crater and a patch of disturbed snow showing a definite impression of large foot prints. The prints led away from the apparent impact site to the treeline opposite to where Hawkeye had come from.

"How strange..."

* * *

Doctor Bradley Ragland was in a queue. Only a few moments ago the coroner had received a phone call from Dana Mercer informing him of her plus one to Alex's little Christmas gathering. Knowing the virus and the very low tolerance that Alex Mercer had for surprises, Ragland had come to the only conclusion he could.

He needed to bring a bottle of wine. Maybe more than one. Not wanting to be the one to inform Alex that there would be an unexpected guest, and knowing that some kind of confrontation and awkward moment was bound to ensue, Bradley decided that the only way to get through the evening would be with some kind of Shiraz. And if worst came to worst maybe the anti-viral properties of red wine would delay an attempt on his life if he poured the thing over Mercer's hooded face.

That last thought was probably a bit of a stretch, but it made for an amusing mental image. He shook his head and chuckled to himself. He still found it difficult to believe that Alex Mercer of all people was organizing a Christmas dinner. His mirth increased, a large smile creasing his face at the thought of the Monster of Manhattan crouching in front of an open oven and basting a turkey.

Eventually he reached the checkout of the shop, paid for the wine and exited the store, bottle wrapped in brown paper and tucked under one arm. Stepping out onto the street he smiled softly to himself. There was a break in the snowfall and the clouds opened up to let sunbeams streaming down between the skyscrapers and warming the exposed skin of the pedestrians below. Across the street was a collapsed office building - which, if his memory served him correctly, was one of the many locations for the hives that had spawned hunters and infected during the height of the outbreak.

Clearing out large hunks of debris were a team of SHIELD agents and the Avenger, Iron Man. He watched for a moment as the heroes helped put the city back together. It was good to see them out and about now, but Dr. Ragland knew that the people of New York would never quite forgive them for being absent during the crises that had caused the mess in the first place.

Shaking his head he turned away to make the trek back home. However after only few steps a croaking stopped him and had him turning to goggle incredulously at the sight of a large green bullfrog sitting on the sill of a display window.

_"It is important to remember, mortal, that for the power they may seem to wield within the realm of Midgard, they are still human beings. If you find it difficult to forgive them for the time of terror that was subjected to this great city, then think of how heavily their own conscience is weighted. Do not punish these brave few who did the best they could for the situation at hand."_

As if coming from a great distance, and delivered in strong Scandinavian tones, the short speech was delivered. Ragland stared at the frog hard, and blinked, gaping at the empty window sill where the frog had once stood. Or sat, or whatever it was that frogs did. And he recalled a rumor that had been floating around the hospital over the last several months.

"Did I just get a pep talk from Thor?"

* * *

Colonel Nicolas Fury put down the cordless phone where it rested on the arm rest of his chair on the bridge of the SHIELD Helicarrier. He idly reached up to scratch the surface of his eye patch as he pondered the news just relayed to him through one Peter Parker.

Alex Mercer was alive.

And more than this fact, Alex Mercer had been alive doing who knows what for almost one and a half years in and around the Manhattan area. And now he was running around collecting ingredients for Christmas dinner.

He didn't know what to make of it. Sighing to himself - it had been a long couple of weeks - he decided that as long as Alex Mercer was not mutilating the denizens of New York he would wait to deal with this matter until after Christmas. After all, he had his own dinner arrangements to make.

* * *

Alex stalked up behind the spruce tree, blade power activated, and maniacal grimace crossing his face. Baring his teeth in concentration and at the anticipation of carnage he swung his blade arm forward with all his might in a running leap.

This Christmas tree thing wasn't so tough after all.


	5. Chapter 5

It was two o'clock in the afternoon and time fir Alex to begin the preparation of the Christmas dinner. To begin with, he needed to put the ham in the oven to cook on low heat. _175 Celsius, basting every twenty-five minutes,_ the piece of himself that was Matilda Klein, grandmother supreme, whispered goodnaturedly.

He shuddered in momentary revulsion.

Unwrapping the ham from the plastic he placed it into the large oven pan and slid it into the appliance. Setting the temperature and a thirty minute timer for basting, he started it up. For a moment he pondered the picture he made; Alex Mercer, wanted for murder, bioterrorism, and property damage, was being _domestic._

"I can't _do_ this," he breathed. "This isn't who _I_ am!"

But he had to keep going. It was also against his nature to give up on something when he had already come this far. He Alex Mercer did not leave things unfinished.

(The small voice that insisted that he might even be enjoying the sheer humanity of what he was doing was promptly ignored.)

It was doable. But if he couldn't picture _himself_ cooking a dinner in a kitchen, there were alternatives. Alex closed his eyes and searched within the web of memories and feelings that he held within himself. There was a sound like the tearing of wet paper combined with the squelch of a chainsaw hacking through a water balloon, and Matilda Klein's body opened her beady brown eyes.

"Okay," Alex Mercer's gravelly voice emitted from her plump lips. "Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

"Ready to go, Dana?" Jennifer Walters asked as she adjusted her earrings, smoothing over her short brown hair while she checked her reflection in the mirror. All of Dana's things had been packed up into a large cardboard box that had been brought out to the car just moments ago.

"Yep, I'm all set." Dana appeared in the entrance way in casual clothing, a pair of washed out jeans and a band tee.

"You're not dressing up?" Jen raised an eyebrow.

"Why? It's _Alex._ "

Jennifer put her hands on her hips and raised the other eyebrow.

Dana chuckled. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that you haven't met him yet." She sighed and looked at her friend. "Alex will be wearing his scruffy jeans and sweatshirt like he always does. And if he does wear a button down shirt it won't even be tucked in. Dress code is _not_ going to be an issue."

Jen shrugged and smiled. "Sounds like a character."

Dana rolled her eyes. "You have no idea."

Heading out to the car they noticed that the rear door was opened and a man stood by the door sporting a designer suit, neatly trimmed goatee, and a large, cheesy, grin. Dana paused for a moment confused; she was sure she had seen this guy before. Beside her, Jennifer Walters facepalmed.

"Oh my god. What are you doing?"

The man, a man who could only be Tony Stark, laughed heartily.

"When I heard you were going somewhere _else_ for Christmas dinner, I just had to see what was pulling you away."

Jen rolled her eyes. "I eat with the team or with my cousin every freaking year. And this year I'm having my Christmas dinner with my friend and her family, alright?"

Stark looked at Dana.

"Well hello. Forgive my manners, I'm Tony Stark-"

"-Womanizing fiend," Jen added.

"And I'm very pleased to meet you, miss...?" He held out his hand confidently, smarmy expression plastered across his face.

Dana raised an eyebrow as she shook his hand. "I _am_ an investigative journalist, you know."

"Beauty and intelligence. You're perfect!"

Jen smiled and shook her head in exasperation. "Tony, this is Dana Mercer. And if we don't get going we're going to be late."

All of a sudden Stark was all business. "Mercer? You're brother wouldn't happen to be an 'Alex', would he?"

Dana stepped back, defensively biting out her response. "Why?"

Tony looked her over, considering, before turning to his fellow Avenger. "Jen. Don't get into any fights please. I'm sure everything will be fine. And if you're going to be late, I won't keep you. Consideration for the host and all that."

Dana looked at her friend confused, wondering why she would get into a fight with her brother. Jen remained confused as well, looking back at Dana with a puzzled expression as Stark walked off. Then, suddenly, it his her.

"Wait a second. Your _brother_ is _Alex Mercer_? He's supposed to be dead!"

Dana shrugged. "I never thought of it that way, but yeah."

Jen face palmed for a second time. "I'm gonna need a drink."

"It's fine, Bradley's bringing some Shiraz. You can guzzle it down when we get there."

Jen groaned.

* * *

There was a knock on the door just as Alex finished setting the table. Mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, steamed vegetables, warmed rolls, and the red current jam along with slices of cheese, salt and pepper decorated the table. A little under an hour ago Ragland had called ahead to tell him that Dana was bringing one of her college friends, and while this news did not please him it was good to know ahead of time. The table was set, the ham almost ready, and the tree was set up in the corner of the living-turned-dining room.

Smoothly, Alex shifted from the form of Mrs. Klein back to his base appearance, and made his way to open the door. Dr. Ragland stood on the other side and held out an accompanying bottle of wine with a droll, "I come in peace. And why are you wearing a knitted shawl?"

Alex stepped to the side to let him in, giving his shoulders a cursory glance. True to the doctor's word, a white and pink shawl, peppered with an occasional sequin and crochet rosebud was resting comfortably over his leather jacket. He frowned before shutting his eyes tight, forcing the last vestiges of Matilda Klein from his mind. The shawl rippled up with dark red viral tendrils and faded out of sight. He answered Ragland's query as he closed the door, his reply delivered in a dry deadpan.

"I forgot."

Quirking an eyebrow, Ragland hung up his coat and made his way to the main room, stopping when he saw the Christmas tree. "Alex...please tell me I'm wrong about where you got this tree."

Mercer had the audacity to smirk. "If you think it's the top third of the one that used to be in Times Square, then you are correct."

Ragland whirled around, exasperated, and a little wary. "...!" Speechless, too.

There was another knock at the door, and Alex slinked out of sight once more, a perfunctory, "get over it, Doc," trailing out behind him.

Ragland mentally shook himself. Now was not the time to attempt to instill morals and ethics in a sentient virus. He really wanted to open that wine.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, Alex opened the door to admit Dana carrying a box of her belongings, and her friend, a tall and statuesque brunette. Narrowing his eyes at his sister he stalked forward, provoking a flinch from her friend, and snagged the box from her hands.

"I'll put this away. Ragland's in the living room. Go and be social, or something," he intoned gruffly. As he shut the door behind them he called out once more, his expression softened and his voice a hint more cheerful. "It's good to see you home, sis."

Dana grinned. "You too."


	6. Omake: Mercer vs. The Potato

Mercer looked at the potato he held in his hand. The potato had eyes, and he imagined that perhaps it looked at him. For a moment he felt compelled to shift from his guise of an elderly woman into his armored form, and intimidate the thing out of its own skin. The peeling of potatoes required finesse.

He put the potato down onto a cutting board he had prepared earlier and shifted his right arm into an evil looking blade. He held up his improvised tool to the light, adjusting the length, orientation, and adding a sharp edged cutout down the centre. Nodding in satisfaction he brought the blade down to scrape along the potato's side, peeling away a thin strip of skin as he went.

Upon reaching the end of the stroke, the change in resistance had him slamming the biomass peeler to be embedded in the cutting board, the potato skittering across the counter to flop over and slide away on the floor.

Mercer cursed as he wrenched his arm free. It appeared that the traditional potato peeling approach did not agree with him.

He frowned, and the old lady face he was currently wearing dimpled in a maternal manner.

"Well then," he harrumphed. Extending out a group of viral tendrils to snap of the potato into the palm of one of his old lady hands he eyed the thing dubiously. "I suppose that the only way to get this done will be to cheat."

His lips peeled back in a bestial grim, or at least the tried. On Mrs. Klein's rounded face it came out more jolly and affectionate than cruel or insane. Grouping the potatoes that would be mashed into a pile he laughed darkly, extending a mass of biomass to smother the pile he had made. The tendrils churned and squelched, scraping and squishing around the potatoes.

Withdrawing the viral matter back into himself with a meaty smack, a pile of perfectly skinless potatoes was revealed.

_"A potato race. Don't they know he's just a kid? One year, a kid fell on his own potato and mashed himself." - Meatballs (film)_


	7. Omake: Ragland vs. Shiraz

The dinner had started out awkward. The ham had been brought out and placed at the head of the table where Alex began to carve out thick slices, thankfully using proper kitchen utensils. Every now and then he would look up at the small gathering and send a look towards Dana that was equal parts nervousness and joy. For Ragland, who had only ever seen Alex either urgent or surly, seeing the man as close to happy he had ever been was seriously tripping him out.

The silence stretched, soon punctuated only by the clanking of dishes and murmured niceties as the dishes were passed out and the wine was poured. Ragland found himself sharing a sympathetic glance with Jennifer Walters, Dana's friend from her school days. Despite his initial misgivings towards exposing someone unprepared to Mercer, he was glad that he wasn't the only "guest" that was present.

Once the food was passed around, an obligatory round of cheers and clinking of glasses took place. Alex looked particularly uncomfortable and withdrew his glass first, wine sloshing up the side. They all took a sip, and dug in.

Eventually, Dana broke the tense quiet. "Alex, this is fantastic. You do realize, that now that I know you can cook, I'm going to be making you do this more often."

He let a strangled, "what?" in response that drove Dana into giggles, and Ragland to drink. The coroner took another swig of wine.

Now, the ice was broken and the table erupted into small talk among them, Jennifer catching up with Dana and Ragland interjecting his own comments here and there. Every now and then Mercer would open his mouth as if to add something, but no sound would come out, and his jaw would shut with a sharp click. Every time this happened, Bradley Ragland would take a sip of Shiraz to calm his nerves.

At one point in the meal he made the mistake of observing Mercer eat. The virus had speared a morsel of ham, his plate being suspiciously absent of any vegetables or bread, and brought it to his lips, normal as anything. Then he would open his mouth, place the meat inside and close. He did not chew or swallow but when his mouth would open next it would be empty. The implications of this made the doctor's mind whirl with the revelation that Alex wasn't eating his dinner, but using his viral abilities to _consume_ his food.

Either that, or he had noticed Ragland's attention and was screwing with him on purpose.

Neither possibility was particularly appealing and rather than ponder it further, Ragland refilled his now empty glass of wine. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Dana bid farewell to Jennifer and closed the door. The dinner had been amazing, the gesture a large step for her brother. Smiling, she turned back to the living room where Alex was clearing away the dishes. Waiting for him to set down the plates piled in his hands she reached around him for a gentle hug and a murmured, "thanks, Alex. Best Christmas gift, ever."

Pulling away she looked up to his face, amazed at how harmless and gentle he appeared when he smiled softly down at her.

A loud snort disturbed the moment, his expression snapping like an elastic band into a deep frown. Behind them on the sofa lay Ragland. The empty bottle of wine was clutched in his arms like a security blanket as he snored softly.

"I had no idea he was such a drinker."

A ghost of a smile graced Alex's lips for a brief moment. "Neither did I."


	8. Omake: Alex vs. The Laundry

Dana looked around the apartment, scrounging around for anything else to add to a load of laundry. Letting out a soft, "aha!" she spied Alex's grungy jacket lying over the armrest. Picking up the article of clothing she held it up and gave it a cursory sniff.

"Oh, Alex. This smells like something _died_ in it!" She took a moment to chuckle about the irony, shaking her head half in amusement, and half in disgust. How could he stand the smell? _Men_ , she harrumphed, _seem to be laundry impaired._ Rolling her eyes she held the coat at arms length with her nose turned away and brought it down the hall of the apartment building to the coin washer for her floor. Jamming the jacket in with the rest of the laundry she fed in a handful of quarters and started the machine up, taking note of the time remaining on the display.

As she left the room water rushed into the main chamber of the appliance, and the drum began to turn.

* * *

Alex Mercer stumbled.

He felt clammy, and dizzy. His head tingled and his vision swam, all semblance of balance shot to hell. Slowly, he sunk down to sit with his back to the alley wall his back hunched over and head hanging down between his knees.

He groaned, reaching blindly through his hooded sweatshirt's pockets, clumsily groping for his cell phone. Eventually he got a hold of it, and bleary eyed he managed to dial in Ragland's number.

"Doc," he intoned, voice wavering. "Tell Dana to take my jacket out of the washer. _Again._ "

He hung up, mood souring further at the coroners unabashed chuckles. Eventually the spinning feeling ebbed, no longer af symptom of having a piece of his own biomass running through the laundry.

But then he felt his stomach drop beneath him, and he felt warm, like he was heating up. His innards lurched again and he groaned.

"No, Dana! _Not the dryer!_ "


	9. Omake: Jen vs. Words

Jennifer entered the apartment, half curious and half apprehensive in regards to meeting Dana's infamous brother. She would need to keep a tight reign of her emotions over the course of the evening to prevent a shift to her green-skinned alter ego. She steeled herself, mentally preparing for the worst of horrors.

"Alex, this is Jennifer - we roomed together in college," Dana introduced as her brother snatched the box she had been carrying. He nodded in her direction, and Jen could barely make out a low grunt of acknowledgment.

Prior information had set her up to believe that Alex Mercer would be raving, violent, and horrific in both demeanor and appearance. The truth was just as shocking in its own way. In person it seemed that Alex Mercer was inexperienced with normal social interactions, preferring to observe rather than speak, giving him the appearance of being shy or introverted. He held an obvious affection for his sister, his expression transforming to an innocent wondering whenever he laid eyes on her. Overall he seemed like a large pet wolf. Dangerous, yes, but also doting and protective.

"Hello, earth to Jennifer. Miss Walters, are you there," Dana giggled as she waved her hands in front of Jennifer Walters' face.

Realizing she had been staring, she turned to her friend, blushing and smiling sheepishly. Grabbing onto the first excuse that came to mind she blurted out, "you didn't tell me your brother was such a hottie!"

Dana let an "eep!" at this unexpected proclamation.

A crash sounded from the next room, followed by a series of gruffly muttered expletives. Dana giggled suddenly, before leaning in with a stage whisper, "I think he heard you."

Jennifer face-palmed. _Of all the things - !_

This was going to make dinner awkward.

* * *

_This was supposed to be a Jen and Alex interaction scene as per Lalzuli's request, but them darn characters wouldn't do what I wanted them to._


End file.
